I Will Follow You Into This
by ICanSeeYourFace
Summary: The truth was, he never used first names because it hurt less. Until today. The hand he places on her back is an awkward gesture, but he wants to show... something. Alec-centric but with some Ellie in it. One shot. Spoilers for the last episode.


**A/N**: Everyone's favorite Scot refuses to leave my head, so I ended up with another Broadchurch-fic. Still focus on Alec, but with a bit of insight into his complicated relationship to people, and especially with Ellie. Intended as a little thing about my favorite brotp for this show, but the more I read it, the more I can see that if you squint and wish upon a star it can be read as a romantic otp-kind of thing. Monstrous spoilers for the entire series, so if you haven't seen it, I suggest you read no further. Title from another Olafur Arnalds-song, _A Hundred Reasons_.

**Disclaimer**: Not making money from this. Call my bank, they can confirm it.

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The truth was, he never used first names because it hurt less. Sod familiarity. It was all because of the hurt. Because of her. Because of bloody Him. Of course he had been on first name basis with her. She had been his wife. Who could not be on a first name basis with their wife, even if both of them were coppers? It was natural. He even occasionally referred to his co-workers by their first name.

Then came Sandbrook.

And everything fell apart.

He wasn't quite sure what hurt more; his wife cheating on him, or his wife losing vital evidence. Maybe both. He shut down, got stuck in work mode. Save the investigation. Save their daughter from the embarrassment. Save everyone but himself.

It was almost too easy. He perjured himself on the stand to save their daughter. His wife didn't bat an eyelash. In fact, she filed for divorce before the verdict was even in. From then on, it was all "Mr. Hardy" and "DI Hardy". Never again Alec (not that he had ever liked his name in the first place). His daughter didn't speak to him for weeks, and nowadays, she dodged his calls whenever possible. They lived in some strange bubble where he communicated with her voice mail, and she responded now and again with texts. He found it odd that no one, not his daughter, not his friends, had asked the obvious question: "Who were you with?" Maybe it didn't matter.

_(it didn't)_

Distancing himself became a coping mechanism. If no one could get close, then no one could hurt him. His heart did a fine job of it all on its own. The exertion, the subtle panic of rummaging for his pills, the medical data he kept hidden from his bosses and his family... Sometimes he was surprised he hadn't just up and left for his granddad's old cabin up near Inverness and turned into a right hermit.

In truth, he loved his job far too much to leave. There was nothing else he could do, nothing else he wanted to do (except find a way to nail that bloody Sandbrook-murderer to the wall for what he did). He worked hard, solved his cases, never accepted praise and never made an effort to get on first name basis with his colleagues.

Until today.

_"Please, Ellie..."_

_"Don't call me Ellie."_

Until he has to watch his partner (who so far in the investigation has been everything he's not and has threatened to throw a cup of piss in his face) as her life crashes and burns in front of her eyes. It stings his heart, but it is not the arrhythmia. It's... empathy. He has never been in this situation before, where someone close to him (or as close as he would let anyone) is struck down in such a cruel way. He's only been on the other side of that fence. He's not sure what to do, how to act. His voice is hushed, his accent less grating. The hand he places on her back is an awkward gesture, but he wants to show... something. They're the same. Same but different, and he will follow her, because really, no one should have to do this alone. He did it out of some misplaced sense of justice and self-sacrifice. Ellie... Miller... no, Ellie. Ellie is different. He watches as she slowly sinks into the same stony expression he did after Sandbrook, trying to lock out the world. It works. For the three minutes it takes for them to get down to the interrogation room. She unleashes a fury that frankly surprises him. They have to carry her out of the room. When he sends her home _(for the day? forever?)_ he almost wishes he could just snap his fingers and send her straight home. It pains him to see her walk through the office. Everyone knows, everyone are thinking the same thing. He knows what it's like.

Three seconds. It's all he allows himself. Three seconds to feel. To regret, to hurt, to wish, to hate. Then it's back to business. Preparing the station for the veritable shitstorm that is about to sweep through the town. Press conferences, media, statements. He knows what they're thinking. He tells them not to, in his most strict and angular voice. _This is unthinkable for her_.

The denial radiates from her when she knocks on his door in the middle of the night, and tries to understand. He does his best to explain, and for a moment, Alec's not sure if he's talking about Joe Miller or his wife.

_"People are unknowable, and... You can never really know what's going on inside someone else's heart."_

He tells her he wishes he hadn't been right. He doesn't say it out loud, but he wishes he had never tried to make her become like him. Hardened. Cold. Suspicious of everyone. She stays another hour, doesn't say anything. He offers her a drink, without ulterior motives. Simple nightcap, because sleeping now will be hard. She arches an eyebrow at him when he downs his mouthful of cheap whisky, and he shoots her a quick glower. For a moment, a second, no, less than a second, things are almost normal.

He sees her again at the bonfire ceremony. He wasn't feeling up to it. She doesn't want to go, for obvious reasons. She sent Tom with Olly and Lucy. She wouldn't have had the heart to tell him not to. So they watch the lights from a distance, and it's an inevitable end. Case closed. She's moving, no matter what Alec says about her belonging in Broadchurch. He's at the end of the line, too. Invalided out. He doesn't know how they found out, but at this point it doesn't matter. This was never going to be permanent. His heart would otherwise get the better of him some day. Better now before it kills him.

_"Look at us. Former Detectives' Club."_

He stifles a snort. Yeah, that would be something... But there are still things he needs to do. Mend fences and mend his heart. Preferably in that order, so that the first actually has a chance of succeeding. And then...

Then there's always Sandbrook.

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**A/N**: Reviews are better than jaded Alec. ^^


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